There is No Better Part of Me, You'll See
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "I'll Gravitate Towards You, I Will Hate You." The life of Molly Parker becomes further complicated by the arrival of a highly-anticipated guest. Broken-hearted and fearful, she is given an opportunity to change her situation. There is, however, one obstacle in her way... Rated M: Language, sex
1. Chapter 1

Molly sat in stunned silence on the bed.

She had just been through a flurry of activity; stripping the sheets and finding new, clean ones and putting herself back in the shower.

She'd kept the curtain open this time, waiting for Mr. Ambrose to return for another round.

Thankfully, he didn't reappear.

She tried to ignore the pain. She tried to forget what had just happened, pretending as if it were merely a nightmare.

It didn't work.

She felt disgusting and dirty. She was ashamed of what he had done to her, and she was angry for thinking at any moment that she actually might escape that fate. She should have jumped into action sooner; she should have fought back.

Did she want that on some level? She had lie there, totally complicit. She had let him violate her with hardly any protest.

Is that why he persisted in his pursuit of her? Did he see desire in her that she was unaware of? Did she actually want him to do these kinds of things to her?

Had she invited this?

She brought her hand up to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles to keep from screaming as a fresh batch of tears fell down her cheeks.

He had told her once that a good woman kept her mouth shut when a man wanted something. Was that why she had remained quiet? Did she want to be a good woman for him?

"It doesn't make sense," she muttered, her voice shaking. "I _don't_ _want him_." She paused, wiping tears away from her cheeks. Her brow furrowed into a pained, confused expression. "Do I?"

While Molly sat contemplating these unpleasant notions, Mr. Ambrose was in a quite different state of mind.

He'd thought that he'd returned to a peaceful state of mind following his first fight night with that stupid Irish oaf.

He now realized that he'd been mistaken, and sorely so.

He doubted that he had ever felt so at ease in his short, miserable life.

He grinned up at the blue sky, flat on his back in the grass of Mr. Barrett's back yard. One hand rested beneath his head while the other held his cigarette to his lips.

She'd learned. It might have been the hard way, but she had finally learned that he wasn't the man to refuse.

The crying and screaming he could have done without, although they did add a certain _something_ to the proceedings. He would have much preferred her to be screaming in pleasure, but she had made her choice.

"Next time," he promised himself, surprised at his certainty that there would be a next time. He shook his head, although a smile came on his face. "You simply don't know when to stop, Mr. Ambrose," he laughed, the cigarette clenched tightly between his teeth as he inhaled victoriously.

Barrett had said Molly had a choice in her partner and her life. He figured that if he had taught her not to refuse him, he could further educate her on the proper choice to make.

It might even be easier this time around.

"Oh I hope not," he murmured, his smile splitting his lips even wider as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ground beside him. "I truly hope not."


	2. Chapter 2

Molly, by some miracle, managed to push away the memory of what had happened.

She found that focusing on the specific tasks of each and every minute occupied her enough to keep the memories at bay. She did, however, dread the night that would follow once there were no further tasks to complete.

This grand plan was immediately nullified when she caught her first glimpse of Mr. Ambrose.

He was returning to the house, a serene smile on his face as he strolled through the front door. He met her eyes and his smile immediately became predatory. To her sick horror, he blew her a kiss before joining the rest of the men.

Her skin began crawling uncomfortably, and she noticed that her hands had started shaking. The aching that had been present in her backside intensified, as if he was inside of her all over again.

She retreated out of sight and pressed her back against the pantry wall, trying to stem the flow of tears from her eyes.

After several minutes, she forced herself out into the kitchen. She glanced at the clock just as it ticked from 5:03 to 5:04.

She was determined that 5:04 would be a better minute than the last few and set about the tasks that might distract her from her situation.

All she had to do was get through the evening. She had decided in those few horrible moments that she would tell Mr. Barrett, consequences be damned. However, it would need to wait until after their guest arrived. She knew how important this night was to him, and wanted to do everything in her power to help it run smoothly.

Part of her realized that this was an excuse to hold that painful truth to herself for just a little while longer, but a bigger part of her was in complete denial and insisted that she would tell him.

Eventually.

At five of six, with a few more 'bad' minutes thrown in, Mr. Barrett rushed by and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the door with him.

His hair was completely askew, a small curl languishing on his forehead.

Her heart ached for want of him.

She reached up and smoothed it back when he paused for a brief moment, and the resulting look in his eyes startled her.

The right side of his lip curled up and he lightly took her hand. "We'll talk tonight, yes?" He asked, squeezing her fingers briefly.

"Yes," she agreed, and he surprised her by bending down and kissing her cheek.

"You're perfect," he murmured in her ear. "You're going to be the bright spot of my night, as always."

She swallowed hard, but managed to nod and smile at him without any tears escaping her eyes.

Across the room, Mr. Ambrose's smile had been replaced with a snarl.


	3. Chapter 3

The first glance she had of their guest surprised her.

He was tall, nearly as tall as Mr. Barrett, with copper skin and dark hair. When Mr. Barrett stepped forward to shake his hand, she saw warm brown eyes and a beautiful smile.

"Mr. del Rio," Mr. Barrett said formally, "welcome. It's a pleasure to have you here."

Mr. del Rio clapped Mr. Barrett on the shoulder in a friendly way. "The pleasure is mine," he replied in heavily-accented English. Molly studied him while he was introduced to Mrs. Barrett, placing a gentle kiss on her outstretched hand.

He seemed pleasant enough. He was being trailed by a young man whose eyes studied every corner of the room without pause.

Molly was surprised when Mr. Barrett introduced her as well, and further surprised when Mr. del Rio took her hand into his warm ones, bending to kiss her like he had Mrs. Barrett.

"Molly," he said kindly.

She managed to smile and nod in return. "Welcome, Mr. del Rio."

His lips split into an even wider grin, and she found herself smiling genuinely after a moment. He had dimples in his cheeks and straight, white teeth.

He was lovely, she thought.

Her assessment must have been written on her face; both Mr. Barrett and Mr. Ambrose were scowling. She attempted to pull back her interest.

"This gentleman," he said, gesturing to the man behind him, "is my employee, Ricardo."

He gave her a quick nod, a smile on his face. He was bouncing on his heels. An energetic one, this one. It was balanced very well by Mr. del Rio's calm demeanor.

"Ricardo," she said genially, extending her hand. They were of the same standing, at least, and she felt less intimidated by him.

He reached out and shook it quickly, speaking rapidly in a language she didn't understand.

Mr. del Rio quickly interrupted him in that same language and his face flushed.

"I'm sorry miss," he said in rather good English. "I've been speaking Spanish for so long that I tend to forget. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled. "Likewise. I can see why you would prefer Spanish; it's quite lovely to listen to."

Both men smiled, clearly pleased. The moment quickly shattered when Mr. Ambrose stepped forward and introduced himself roughly, obviously attempting to break Mr. del Rio's hand as he shook it.

"Ah yes, you will be my opponent?" Mr. del Rio questioned upon hearing the name, not at all fazed by Ambrose's ridiculous attempt at establishing superiority. "I have heard a bit about you. I look forward to the challenge."

"You shouldn't," Ambrose replied with a smile before stepping back abruptly and leaving through the back door.

He realized that he was being ridiculous, but the way Molly looked at the man had gotten under his skin. Let the others make false apologies for him; he didn't give a shit about decorum at the moment.

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

It would appear that she hadn't learned anything at all.

What a disappointment.

He shook his head. He had truly thought that they'd gotten somewhere today. First the nonsense with Mr. Barrett, which he had attempted to write off as she hadn't been an active participant. But then her starry-eyed view of Mr. del Rio…well, that was unforgiveable.

He'd take care of that after he ruined del Rio's face so badly tomorrow that Molly would never want to look at him like that again.

She'd only look at him with pity after he was done.

"What in the blue _fuck_ are you doing?" Barrett's voice came from behind him. The big man was upset.

"He's smug and arrogant and I don't like it," Ambrose replied crossly, not bothering to turn around as he took another drag off his cigarette.

A big hand gripped his collar and yanked him back, turning him so he was nose-to-nose with Barrett.

"I've had _enough_," Barrett growled. "Your insolence is astounding, and I've suffered it for the last time tonight. Get out of my house. Come back tomorrow, if you're ready to behave like an adult. Otherwise, I'll find a replacement for you – and good luck finding steady income elsewhere."

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development. One that he was surprised to find he had no answer for.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Ambrose won't be joining us this evening," Mr. Barrett said when he returned to the dining room. "My apologies."

"It is quite all right," Mr. del Rio said genially, waving a hand dismissively. "The company we have here is certainly pleasant enough, is it not?" He paused to smile at Molly, who was refilling his water glass. "Thank you, child. Will you not sit with us this evening?"

Molly froze and looked to Mr. Barrett, who nodded.

Abigail, disgusted, threw her napkin down and stalked off. Mr. del Rio glanced at her curiously, but said nothing. Wade found that he liked the man immensely after that.

Molly joined the group at the table, settling in the vacant seat next to Sheamus. Barrett had to suppress a smile as the Irishman turned red and immediately dropped his fork on the floor. Molly sweetly pretended not to notice.

"Ricardo, come sit," Mr. del Rio said, gesturing to the young man standing in the corner. "No servants tonight, merely new friends."

The men chatted for a bit and Molly attempted to keep up, but found she would get lost in Mr. del Rio's accented, flowing voice.

"How did you come to work here, Miss Molly?" He asked innocently, unaware of the horrible story behind her presence in the house.

She remained silent for a moment, trying to find a way to answer the question diplomatically before Mr. Barrett broke in.

"Her father owed me a debt. Molly offered to work for me as a way to pay it off. She's been a blessing."

She was startled to feel his hand slide onto her thigh and lightly squeeze. Attempting to keep her face calm, she pulled her leg away from his grip, her face turning bright red.

The hurt and confusion that filled his face was immediate, and his hand moved back to his own lap.

"Mr. Barrett has been kind enough to welcome me into his home," she continued on with the conversation, "I believe that's been the real blessing."

Mr. del Rio smiled. "It is good to hear that a bad situation worked out well for everyone."

Molly smiled back, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

The conversation moved on throughout the night, and she eventually grew to be more at ease. Mr. del Rio's stories of his travels and his home in Mexico were fascinating, and she listened with eyes that grew wider and a heart that filled with the desire to see such places.

The time passed so quickly that she was amazed to see Doctor Callahan walk in and remembered that she had forgotten to prepare the infirmary room for him to re-stock this evening.

"Oh! Excuse me," she murmured, quickly joining him.

Mr. del Rio stared after her curiously and looked to Mr. Barrett for an explanation.

"Molly's been assisting our physician after our fights," he explained. "I believe she's able to stitch up cuts now, actually, although I'm not quite willing to let her practice on me just yet."

"She does well," Sheamus said dismissively, waving his hand. "Drew's stitches were a little crooked the first time, but my eyebrow came out just fine."

"That is impressive," Mr. del Rio said, nodding. "She is a smart girl."

"Very," Mr. Barrett agreed. "She's taken to everything quite easily."

"I could use someone like that." He glanced at Ricardo. "No offense intended, _amigo_, but you faint at the sight of blood." He glanced back at Mr. Barrett and smiled charmingly. "I do not suppose you would be willing to part with her?"

He was taken aback. "No," he answered immediately. "Not unless she made the decision on her own," he added smoothly. "I don't believe she will, but you are of course free to ask."

Mr. del Rio smiled and shrugged. "That is a shame. I have to at least try, you understand. It is a marvelous idea. Perhaps if she refuses I shall find my own Molly back home."

Wade nodded, in spite of his roiling stomach.

He tried to tell himself he had nothing to worry about.


	5. Chapter 5

Exhausted, Wade collapsed onto his sofa with a drink in his hand. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to revel in the fact that, in spite of the potential for disaster, the night had gone well.

Ambrose had made trouble, of course, but he'd partially expected that and felt that he'd dealt with it appropriately. Molly had been charming; perhaps a bit _too_ charming, in fact.

He grinned, although there was little amusement in his expression. He would have a tough time keeping her here should she decide to leave. Her options seemed endless.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she knocked gently at his doorway. "You wanted to see me?"

His smile became more natural. "Always," he replied, standing up and striding towards her. He reached to pull her into his arms and was astounded when she stepped back.

After a moment, he lowered his own arms and cautiously backed away from her. "Have I done something to offend you?"

She closed her eyes, her shoulders sinking into obvious despair. "No," she replied quietly. "You haven't offended me."

He hesitated, confused. "Then may I ask why…?"

Tears started streaming down her cheeks. "Molly," he said gently, stepping towards her again. She quickly retreated, opening her eyes.

"You're married," she said around the lump in her throat. "This isn't right."

He felt his own shoulders slump in defeat, the truth sinking onto him heavily. "I'm sorry to have put you in this position," he replied after a moment. "I…I shouldn't have ever taken advantage of your good nature the way I did."

They both hung their heads, uncomfortable and hurt, with the crushing weight of loneliness settling in on each of them once more.

"Mr. del Rio has expressed an interest in hiring you," he said before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth. "If you'd like to leave my employ, he would have a position waiting for you at his home in Mexico."

She looked uncertain for a moment. "If you'd like to…leave me, I'd understand," he continued, trying to keep the warble of sadness out of his voice.

"No," she replied. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"None-the-less," he replied, cursing his nobility. "If you need to leave, I understand it completely. It may be easier in the long run."

"Do you want me to leave?"

The words struck him hard in the chest. "Dear God no," he whispered. "No."

Her eyes finally met his, and the profound misery in them was his undoing. He came to her in two long strides, pulling her into his arms and bending to crush his lips against hers. Propriety be damned.

He moved away after several moments and buried his face in her hair. "Why couldn't it have been you?" He murmured gently. "Why was it her and not you?"


	6. Chapter 6

Ambrose listened outside of Molly's window as she sobbed heartily, reaching a near-fevered pitch with her wailing before she buried her face into the pillow to stifle the sound.

She'd been at it for some time now, a half-hour if he guessed correctly.

How curious.

He wondered what had happened during his absence.

After pacing back and forth for several minutes, her sobbing still did not subside.

It was giving him a terrible headache.

He walked towards the front of the house, watching through Mr. Barrett's window while he drank heavily. After his third drink in rapid succession, he buried his head in his hands.

Something had, indeed, happened tonight. Something he had an inkling that he would not be at all pleased by.

If it had rattled Barrett that badly, it was certainly nothing good.

He made his way back to Molly's room, listening to her pathetic mewling cries as they became more sporadic.

Finally, she stopped altogether. He reconsidered his course of action for several moments and ultimately elected to pursue the punishment of Ms. Molly Parker when he knew the entirety of this new situation.

Uneasily, he slunk off into the night and left Molly in the fitful sleep of the broken-hearted.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning was a misery for both Molly and Mr. Barrett.

Molly was quiet, subdued, with eyes that were puffy and still tear-filled.

Mr. Barrett was, quite simply, a miserable bastard with a hangover.

Sometime around eleven that morning, Mr. del Rio arrived. He could tell that something was off about the inhabitants of the house, but he attempted to stay above the fray and be kind to everyone.

Barrett liked that about him. He found himself thinking that if Molly were to leave, it wouldn't be a bad thing for her to go with del Rio.

His heart sank, and he cursed himself yet again for his parting words – a plea to at least consider Mr. del Rio's offer.

Truly, it was for her sake that he had asked. She didn't deserve to be anguished, stuck so close to him but unable to move forward with any kind of relationship. She didn't deserve to be in the same home with a man who couldn't trust himself around her; a man who couldn't promise not to kiss her ever again, or touch her when the desire arose.

He hated himself for ruining something so wonderful, and accepted that it was his burden to bear if she should decide to leave.

His heart still dove into his stomach when Mr. del Rio kindly took Molly's arm and asked for a private word with her outside.

She refused to look at him as she left, and Barrett knew with horrible clarity that she would be leaving.

"Fuck," he muttered, standing up and pouring himself another drink. He thought that this might be the norm for the next several days.

Molly was well aware of what Mr. del Rio wanted to discuss with her, and it was a conversation she dreaded.

She thought that leaving would be the wise choice, but she simply did not want to do it. She had hoped that Mr. del Rio would choose to leave things as they were and she wouldn't be forced to make a decision.

She listened politely to his pitch, her mind frantically attempting to discern the correct answer. When he fell silent, she still was unsure.

"Tell me more about Mexico," she said. A smile lit his face, and he began to speak.

It was then that Mr. Ambrose arrived.

He watched the two of them for a brief moment, listening with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Mexico," he interrupted with a snort. "You're painting an awfully rosy picture, aren't you Mr. del Rio?"

He strode forward. Molly's face ran a gamut of emotions, from surprise to fear to deep sadness. Mr. del Rio simply looked annoyed.

"I am not sure which parts of Mexico you have visited, _amigo_, but what I say is the truth for where I live."

He pursed his lips in a stunning display of wild skepticism. "Mexico is a shit hole," he said clearly, looking at Molly while he said it. "No one in their right mind would choose to live there."

She could see Mr. del Rio's fists clench angrily, but the man maintained his temper. She found that she was pleased by that in a detached way – he wouldn't be terrible to work for.

"I am not sure," he said slowly, "what business this is of yours, Mr. Ambrose."

Dean grinned, nodding towards Molly. "_She_ is my business, Mr. del Rio," he replied snidely.

Alberto glanced between the two of them, acutely aware of something buried just beneath the surface. "I will forgive your intrusion," he decided after a moment. "And I will allow you the two of you privacy to discuss your…issues." He turned to Molly with a warm smile, surprised at the worry in her eyes. He patted her hand gently. "I will be right inside the door," he said for her benefit. "Should you make your decision, or should you need anything – please call for me."

She nodded, managing a small smile. "Thank you."

Ambrose watched him with wary eyes, waiting until he was well out of earshot before speaking.

"So," he said casually, taking slow steps towards her. "Mexico."

She glanced away. "It has been offered as a possibility," she admitted.

He laughed. "It's not an offer you'll take. Do you understand me?"

The expression on her face turned to pure hatred. "You don't tell me what to do," she said quietly. "You can't force me to live my life in a certain manner."

"Oh yes I can," he replied, casually taking the seat beside her. He reached out and gently touched her face, turning her chin so that their eyes met. He smiled. "Do you think running off to Mexico will stop me? I would burn the whole world down to find you, my Molly May."

He could see the fear take over her face. "Why are you doing this?" She asked.

"Because I want to," he explained simply, "and because I can."

She shook her head. "Leave me alone."

"No." He leaned over to grab her wrists, and she surprised him by pulling away.

"Leave me alone," she repeated, a low warning growl finding its way into her voice. "You got what you wanted from me, now leave me in peace. Please."

"You are in a mood this morning, sweetheart," he said instead, reaching over and smoothing her hair back behind her ear. "You'd better stop before you put me in a mood. That would be very, very bad for you." She closed her eyes, hating him more than she'd imagined it was possible to hate another human being. Sensing her weakness, he leaned forward. "And what made you think for a minute that I got what I wanted from you?"

"What else could you possibly want?" She asked hopelessly.

His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. "I want you to admit that you want me like I want you."

"I don't."

"Are you sure?" She glanced over at him warily, and he could see that he had her. He tried to take a gentle tone. "Every time I touched you, you were wet for me. You never protested with any real conviction. You haven't told anyone that I was forcing myself on you or that you didn't want me around. Are you truly sure that you don't want me? I find your mouth and your body saying two entirely different things in this case, my love."

She wrenched away from him, and he caught a glimpse of her tear-filled eyes as she ran back into the house.

He smiled grimly. "One down…."


	8. Chapter 8

"Let me explain something to you, _amigo_," Ambrose said snidely. "You can't just waltz in here and try to take from me. You're new around here, so you might not know this – but _nobody_ takes from me."

Mr. del Rio raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that young woman is not yours. She certainly does not seem to enjoy your company."

Ambrose could feel his lips contorting into a sneer. "Molly is mine. She might not realize it just yet, but she belongs to me. As a result, you need to back off."

The other man smiled. "No, I do not think I will. She is free to decide her own course."

"No, she isn't," Ambrose explained with false patience. "_I_ decide. And I'm telling you she isn't going anywhere."

"We will see, will we not?" del Rio clapped him on the shoulder with false friendliness, and Ambrose grabbed his hand and twisted it painfully by the wrist.

"Don't fucking touch me," he spat.

To his credit, del Rio kept his cool. He reached out with his other hand and struck Ambrose with a surprisingly ferocious punch to the jaw.

"You had best mind your manners," he said in a clipped tone as Ambrose dropped his wrist.

"After you," he replied angrily. He couldn't believe the Mexican had the balls.

Del Rio smiled, although his eyes were dark with anger. "If she matters so much to you, I am sure that you will find a way to convince her."

"She's convinced. I'll convince you now." Ambrose did his best to not jump the man at that exact moment, and rushed into his words as a result. "When I win tonight, tomorrow you leave town without Molly and with your pocket two thousand pounds lighter."

"And when I win tonight," del Rio countered, "I leave with Molly and get to see you whipped publicly for your insolence."

"Then it's a wager," he said, sticking out his hand angrily for del Rio to shake. He felt his fingers being crushed, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.

After the deal was sealed, he had one more piece of business.

"Molly should come to the fight tonight," he was saying in Mr. Barrett's office several minutes later. "I think it's time for her to see what we actually do. We had Doc Callahan do the same thing when he started working with us."

"Molly doesn't need to see that," Barrett replied, already on his second glass of scotch this morning.

"You can't shelter her forever."

Barrett snorted derisively, some dark thought crossing his mind. Ambrose knew better than to ask – truthfully, he couldn't care less.

"No," Wade admitted sadly. "No, I can't." He sighed heavily. "Fine. We'll bring her along."


	9. Chapter 9

The last thing Molly wanted was to spend an evening in the company of three men who had different, conflicting designs on her – one of whom was just as broken-hearted and lost as she was.

It pained her to see Mr. Barrett in such a state. She could tell that he was trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, but the unfamiliar somberness to his expression gave him away.

She herself was a roiling concoction of pain and confusion. She wanted to comfort Mr. Barrett badly, but knew that it would only add more complexity to an already puzzling state of affairs.

In her pain, she had foolishly decided to not discuss Mr. Ambrose with him. She lied to herself that it was to avoid causing any additional grief in his life, but knew that it was because she was ashamed of what had happened to her.

The thought of having to speak it out loud, of having to explain – it made her feel ill. And so she chose to avoid that situation entirely.

She surreptitiously glanced at Mr. Ambrose. For once, he wasn't focused on her – she could see him moving around, hopping back and forth on his feet and swinging his arms.

If she hadn't been disturbed enough before their conversation this morning, she certainly was afterwards. It was terrifying that he was persisting, and for no other reason than his own sick amusement.

She had sorely misjudged him as merely dangerous. He was a psychopath, and she was certain that this made him lethal.

"All right, Molly?" A warm hand clapped on her back. She gave a tight smile to the Irishman standing beside her.

"It's a bit to take in," she said by way of excuse.

"You'll get used to it," he reassured her, taking his leave to perform his own pre-fight ritual.

"I hope not," she murmured, glancing around nervously once more before settling in beside – but a safe distance from – Mr. Barrett.

They both refused to look at each other, staring resolutely ahead and saying nothing. It was such a strange state of being for both of them – to physically be so close, yet otherwise entirely separated from one another.

She hated it, and it preoccupied her until it was time for the fighting to start.

Mr. Barrett moved her to an out-of-the way area, refusing to let the crowd see that a woman – a young, pretty woman – was in their midst.

She watched some of the fights with interest, managing a small smile when Sheamus knocked Drew on his rear for the victory and then helped him up, laughing.

He grinned as he walked by her, his bright red hair messier than usual, his pale chest and back gleaming with sweat. She smiled back.

The last fight of the night was the one she'd been dreading – Mr. Ambrose and Mr. del Rio. At the last moment, both men had agreed that it would be a match with no rules; the last man standing would be the winner.

This did nothing to quell her nerves.

She attempted to watch stoically, amazed at the ferocity with which they attacked one another. For a short while, it appeared as though Mr. del Rio would emerge triumphant – he had bloodied Mr. Ambrose's nose and forehead with several brutal blows, and pulled him into position where he looked as if he was tearing his arm out of its socket.

Molly did not flinch; she did not wince. She watched this part calmly, a dark joy building in her chest.

The trouble began when Mr. del Rio assumed – incorrectly – that Mr. Ambrose was defeated and let go. He rose to his feet, bloody, with an expression of pure rage on his face.

The beating that followed was one of the most terrifying things she had ever witnessed.

Every part of his body became a weapon. She even saw him rake his fingernails down the other man's back, wincing as red lines bloomed on his skin from the attack. Mr. del Rio staggered away from him, obviously in pain.

Mr. Ambrose smiled, although it looked more like a grimace, and pulled him back.

His violence was intricate and controlled chaos; his movements were fluid and graceful in their own way, but difficult to predict.

She had never seen anything quite like it.

Apparently, neither had Mr. del Rio. In a matter of ten minutes, he was on his stomach and Mr. Ambrose was left standing the victor.


	10. Chapter 10

"They took you to the fights?" Doctor Callahan asked, taking in her pale face. She managed a weak smile and nod. "It takes some time to stop feeling queasy, but you will." He squeezed her shoulder in a friendly way.

Most of the men had escaped relatively unscathed. Molly put a cold compress on the back of Drew's head where a lump had formed after his fall. Mr. del Rio had refused medical attention from her or Doctor Callahan, walking out of the arena after a quick conference with Mr. Ambrose.

He had looked at her with sadness and regret, and Molly understood why Mr. Ambrose had been so vicious.

The choice had been made for her – she wouldn't be going to Mexico. It was a mixture of relief and profound fear of what her future now held.

She avoided Mr. Ambrose entirely, although he watched her with obvious interest. She let the doctor work on his wounds, and sensing that she felt uncomfortable Doc didn't ask her for any assistance.

As they were cleaning up the room, Mr. Ambrose lingered. She realized it was for her and knew that it would be an unavoidable confrontation. With as brave a voice as she could muster, she suggested that Doc make his way home; she would take care of the rest.

With a suspicious backward glance at the two of them, he took her advice.

Ambrose shut the door behind him and turned the small privacy lock, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"What?" She asked simply, throwing down the rag she'd been using to wipe his blood off the floor.

He took a few small steps towards her. "Do you know what winning does to a man?"

The question surprised her. She shook her head.

"Winning something small – a card game, a wager – fills a man with a sense of pride. It makes him feel, in a way, more alive." He had completed his approach and offered her his hand. She took it uneasily and stood under his scrutiny for several moments before he spoke again.

"Winning a physical competition is a little different," he continued. "That sense of pride is multiplied, but it also makes one very aware of his masculine attributes and…appetites."

Her heart sank as he reached out and lightly brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Quite simply," he said slowly, "it makes a man want to fuck the next acceptable thing that walks by."

She didn't fight him as he shoved her towards the wall and began kissing her intensely. She had been resigned to this fate since their conversation this morning. Perhaps if she simply gave in once, he would be satisfied.

"Kiss me back," he murmured. "Kiss me back like you did yesterday. Let me teach you how to do it."

She complied numbly, the motions feeling a bit less fumbling and awkward the more she did them.

He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. A bolt of panic shot through her, but she quickly shoved it down. She could feel him pressed against her through their clothes and wondered what it would feel like when he finally did it. She wondered if it would hurt as much as it had before.

He paused in kissing her and moved his head down to kiss her neck, a new sensation that she found she enjoyed. The stubble on his face scraped against her sensitive skin and she found herself gripping his shoulders, her hips pressing towards his without her conscious thought.

"Do you want me?" He asked, bringing his mouth to her ear to ask before putting his mouth on the lobe and sucking lightly.

She didn't answer. Mildly annoyed, he slid his hand to her panties and moved them aside to run his fingers against her.

He smiled when he felt the effect he was having on her. Changing his plan slightly, he began to stroke her and was rewarded with a small whimper that was a mixture of pleasure and reluctance.

"Look at me," he commanded, although he tempered it with a gentle tone.

She unwillingly obeyed, her deep brown eyes meeting his. He increased the pressure of his fingers, grinning as her eyes fluttered and her hips pressed against his hand more insistently.

"I'm going to make you come," he said. "Would you like that?"

Her chest was moving rapidly, her hips rocking against him wildly. When she didn't answer again, he stopped. "Tell me. Would you like that?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, returning his attention to giving her an orgasm. He held her tightly when her body began to tremble, kissing her face, her neck, her lips. She started to cry out and he pressed his lips tightly against hers once more, stifling the noise.

He held her for several moments after, considering his course of action.

She looked at him warily. "Are you going to…are we…." He raised an eyebrow. "Should we go to my bedroom?"

His heart leapt. "No," he surprised himself by saying. "No, I don't think we should." He bent and kissed her softly on her lips and then her forehead. "Not tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

He sent her off to bed and took his leave, his pockets heavy enough to fund his activities for the night, with many thanks to Mr. del Rio.

His first stop was the brothel, where he had one last explosive encounter with his favorite whore. He gave her a generous bonus and explained that he wouldn't be seeing her for a while, if ever again.

He pretended not to notice the relief on her face.

His mind substantially clearer, he took a long walk in a neighborhood close to the Barrett household.

He found what he was looking for and, in spite of the late hour, was able to broker a deal with the homeowner. He would take possession of the house within the week.

He mentally ticked things off the list that had been given to him not long ago –

He lived in a boarding house. Well, not any longer.

He drank to excess. Not for the last several days. He hadn't missed it, he was surprised to find.

He caroused. Not after tonight.

He smiled.

"Hard to protest the match now, Mr. Barrett," he murmured to himself. "Hard to protest indeed."


	12. Sequel

Thank you, once again, for reading/reviewing/favoriting/tweeting ( VitaFidens) me to let me know that I'm managing to keep things interesting.

Next part is up - "Two Hearts Beat Until They're Broken." I hope you enjoy! And, as always, thanks for reading.


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